


A Helping Hand

by Emeka



Category: Summon Night (Video Games)
Genre: Caught, Dubious Consent, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-06
Updated: 2020-03-06
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:35:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23045653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emeka/pseuds/Emeka
Summary: Erst tries to jerk off, as a treat.
Relationships: Erst Brattern/Folth
Comments: 4
Kudos: 7





	A Helping Hand

**Author's Note:**

> srry not srry about title

Since nine o’clock he has been turning back and forth in his bed, wide awake, unable to even drowse. The clock is ticking in on midnight and the only reason he’s even in bed right now is because he’s unable to do anything else. He can barely take a mid-afternoon walk without everyone getting antsy about it. Ugh. Should have hidden that bottle of wine somewhere... at least then he could drink himself into a stupor.

Why does he always get like this? He shakes his head hard, as though by doing so the thoughts will fly right out. It’s normal to be frustrated in a situation like this, sure, but no point in bemoaning the fact. Anyway. Drinking isn’t the only thing he can do to help go to sleep.

When’s the last time he’s done _that_? Maybe that’s part of why he’s in such a mood. Things have been so hectic lately... and the whole ten years or so he was trapped in Nether it was the farthest thing from his mind.

He lets the idea roll around in his head, and is a little surprised to find it gaining heat. After a good decade not even in his own body, and these past few weeks too depressed and disgusted by himself to touch his body in any way that wasn’t strictly utilitarian, he’s going to jerk off. Huh. _Huh_.

It’s been so long he feels like an awkward pre-teen again. The back of his bed easily raises a little to give him a better angle on his dangle. His hands actually tremble just resting on his stomach, and taking in the way they feel. Warm. Tickles a little. A little lower, barely reaching his lower belly, and his breath sucks in. Can’t remember his skin ever being so... soft. And the way every touch of his fingerpads resonates (hah) through the rest of him. Including his dick. In all his life he can’t remember being this hard, even as a teenager.

Even the act of sliding a hand past his underwear band, something he barely gave a second thought to when he jerked off just whenever he was in the mood, is weirdly sensual, like a stirring passage from a bodice-ripper. It’s foreplay with himself—at least, what he’s always thought of foreplay as being like, as a virgin otherwise.

He bites down on his lip to repress the ‘ah’ trying to rise up in his throat. Even his pubic hair tingles at the roots, so much he pulls on it gently to raise more of that sensation. God. Has he always been missing out by not taking it slow, or is this because of the deprivation? And now, as he finally gets his grubby little hand on himself--

“Mmf!” is all, though it’s explosively loud in this quiet, metallic room.

God it’s so nice just to hold it, exchanging humid warmth skin on skin, blood pounding his shaft into what feels like an incredible thickness, and his back arching on the tiny strokes he can barely stand to put himself through. Please let him come, please just let him come so he can sleep--

The door slides open.

Is this karma? he wonders a split-millisecond before trying to look as ‘totally not jerking it’ as quickly as possible, hand flat over his erection and legs closed, which can only look more suspicious but what the hell else can he do. All his adolescence he’d escaped the dreaded ‘interruption’; his parents rarely spoke to him let alone when he was holed up in his room, and Ghift wasn’t the barging-in type.

“Folth!” he squeaks, like the sudden backflow of blood made him spontaneously re-enter puberty. “What—um, what’re you doing here? At this time of night?” It is dark. Maybe if he keeps still he’ll miraculously not notice anything amiss.

“I was walking by earlier, and heard you tossing and turning.” To his horror, Folth walks blithely right in, with, he sees, a steaming cup on a tray. “There’s not as many amenities here as the cafe, but I made some tea to help you relax.”

He can’t bring himself to react, even to croak out a thanks. The placement of his hand would be even more obvious if he drew attention to it by moving, but he’s not sure if he can lay here with his hand on his dick in front of someone he last knew as a child, either.

He’s about to (politely) suggest he save the drink for himself and just leave as Folth comes closer to the bedside. The tray is gently set on the bedside table, still clinking a bit and throwing him off for another half-second before he gathers his courage again--

“Do you need help?”

“...huh?”

“Do you need help?” Folth repeats, eyes glancing to and from... oh no. No no no no. “You’ve been trying for a while, right?”

“...huh?” Does he think he’s been trying to get off since whenever he heard him earlier? A normal person would give up by now... but it’s not like he can correct him and say, no, I just started and was doing _pretty well_ until you showed up.

Wait a minute. Help?

“Help?” his dumb mouth repeats, echoing his head.

“Sure, I think it’s a great idea,” Folth says smoothly, just as smoothly as he makes room for himself behind Erst with hands firm but inoffensive. “It’ll raise your mood, and you’ll sleep better. But with everything that’s been going on, it’s hard to get there, huh?”

“Hey—wait--”

He tries to elbow off his arm when it comes around his body, but the effort is just a cruel reminder of why he’s in a hospital bed. It’s like a kid trying to push off an adult.

“It’s okay, there’s no need to be shy. We’re both men, and we’ve known each other a long time.” Folth’s voice is low and soothing, like neither of those things matter at all, when he still thinks of him as that chubby-cheeked kid he knew. And men? Maybe, but this isn’t the way he’d prefer to explore that possibility. “Just relax. Don’t even think about orgasm.”

Folth doesn’t touch him as lingeringly as Erst had himself, but just the passing heel of his palm against his hip gives the same wave of excitement through his flesh. As their fingers touch he realizes suddenly he has the right to be angry; and if he thought the intention here was genuinely to assault him, he would be. But he can’t think of Folth—or the boy he knew—and believe he’s doing anything but his best to be helpful.

Maybe... maybe he should just go along with it. It’ll be over with quicker at this rate, and Folth just wants to help... so let him help.

He has to consciously relax himself back into Folth’s chest (how strong it has grown) before he can let his hand be moved aside. A strange protected feeling, like being cradled, comes over him for a brief moment, both sweet and bitter after the past week of coddling. When Folth speaks it goes right into his ear: “It must have been awful to be this hard for so long.”

Erst vaguely shakes his head. His cock makes a quick recovery from shocked half-softness in a stranger’s grip, so quick the turnaround punches him in the head with warm, dizzy arousal. At any decent pace he’d come immediately but Folth strokes him so slow (to encourage him to relax?) that he can’t do more than tighten his thigh muscles in preparation.

“Do you need anything more?” Folth asks helpfully, still _sotto voce_ and tickling his ear. “Do you want to show me how you do it?”

The idea of performing swindles an involuntary whine from his throat. His head reflexively rolls to his other shoulder in avoidance, realizing too late that it bares his neck. Folth’s mouth settles naturally into and as he speaks, the movement of his lips feels not quite like a kiss. “You’re getting all wet. I’m doing it right, then?”

“Folth...” He can barely hear his own voice over the growing _slickslickslick_ noises. "Oh god, Folth…"

"Come when you want, or take as long as you want. I'm right here with you." His hand quickens just enough to accentuate him stroking harder, going into a twisting motion with each pull up, like he’s trying to squeeze the stuff right out of him while molding him into shape. “Are you close?” He chuckles, ghosting air against his skin. “Is someone else all you needed?”

“I’m gonna—you’re gonna make me--” The words are breathy and unwilling; it takes whatever control he has left not to simply lose it, not just for the hand pleasuring him, but the awareness of his face being so close to his. Just a slight change in perspective and they’d be eye to eye... mouth to mouth.

What would it be like to kiss Folth? Would it be just as warm and gentle as his eyes are, while still firmly taking command of his mouth like he is his body?

“Are you? I can’t wait to feel it all over my hand.”

The thought alarms him for a second—he’d forgotten the mess—but he’s already so close it melds into his excitement. He won’t be able to see it immediately with the blanket covering him anyway, so, okay, no problem, go ahead and cream all over the hand of his little boy he used to know--

Even with his best effort to keep quiet, another whine leaves between his teeth, growing in intensity as the seconds pass until he may as well not have bothered. Every pulse through his cock is hotter and wetter than the one before, leaving him finally spent and exhausted. Only as his body relaxes back down does he notice his fingers clutched tightly onto Folth’s knee; he’s too worn out to be abashed about it, but he’s still conscious of Folth’s gaze following his hand as he retreats it back to his own lap.

A moment passes in silence. Their breathing syncs, falling into a comfortable rhythm with Folth’s chest rising into his back. The grip on his cock has loosened to a comfortable hold, just enough pressure to still titillate without irritating. Ugh. It feels so slimy down there. Like he unloaded a whole lake into his underwear. Another consequence of it being so long, he supposes.

He breaks into an abrupt, jaw-popping yawn.

Folth laughs, and the quiet of the moment is broken. “I bet you’ll be able to have a good night’s sleep now.”

“Um. Yeah.” Can’t quite bring himself to say ‘thanks’, and it doesn’t seem appropriate anyway.

“I’m going to, uh... take a second to wash up in your bathroom, if that’s alright.”

“Oh. Of course.”

Erst looks carefully away as Folth parts from him, undoubtedly gross hand first, himself, legs, until he’s standing by his bedside again. “Run the tub water, would you?” He leaves any implication as to why out of it. If Folth offered to help him bathe too, he’s not sure he could refuse after coming this far along. And actually being butt-naked with him... one weird experience in a day is enough.

Folth does not offer, or give him any look that says he is considering it. He only goes to the bathroom, and seconds later, Erst hears the sound of the bathtub running, loud and noisy at first as water splashes against the porcelain. The sink faucet runs first below then nearly beside it as it fills.

Erst drinks the cooling tea that had been made for him (lavender, with something sweet and minty beneath) as he waits. A long time seems to pass. The tub turns off and all that’s left is the sink still running. His cup, awhile since drained, has been returned to the tray. He couldn’t have made that much of a mess. Could he? Maybe some dripped on his clothes and he’s trying to rub it out—not like that—but--

Maybe like that?

His sluggish heart jolts half-heartedly into his breastbone. It’s dark and Folth wears dark slacks—and he hadn’t been looking at him anyway—so he didn’t _see_ anything amiss, and he’d been too mired in his own sensations to have noticed anything by feel. But it’s been a while for just washing hands.

His mind can’t help running over the potential of it, though it’s the last place it should be going (he already aches from the waist down). So affected by ‘helping’ him he’s now tending to himself.

He could decide that one good turn deserves another. Give him a little ‘help’ too, mouth the crook of his neck; see what his kiss is like. His heart pounds a little more insistently, and the ache between his legs grows. His mind is far too muddled at the moment to go through with it, but you don’t have to want to actually do a thing just to think about it. Thinking is free, and legal, and just for himself.

The faucet finally turns off as his mind uncertainly indulges itself (he’d be surprised to see him, and gently struggle as Erst had done, and resign himself as Erst had done, before sitting up on the counter so he could inspect every inch of him) and Folth walks out looking as he did when he first arrived. Concerned, neat, and clean.

“Try not to slip,” he says, smiling mildly. “I'll wait to make sure. Arca would never let me hear the end of it.”

 _She’d wonder why you were in my bedroom at night to begin with_. He does not doubt Folth would have a glib answer for it. The teacup is even here as evidence. But Folth and Arca are in a sense only different sexes of the same person—if anyone could see through it, it’d be her.

But it is also in Folth’s nature to be kind, and trusting. Helpful.

“I’m not a kid, you know,” he replies, smiling too, and just like that they have moved beyond tonight and any questions about it. For now.

**Author's Note:**

> i'd say i'm back on my bullshit but was i ever really off it???? no


End file.
